Who will die first?
I wonder if the thought itself is a part of the nature of physical love, a reverse darwinism that awards sadness and fear to the survivor. Or is it some inert element in the air we breathe, a rare thing like neon, with a melting point, an atomic weight?
Shouldnt death, be a swan dive, graceful, white-winged and smooth, leaving the surface undisturbed?
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